


ethology

by alchemystique



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 19:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4150566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemystique/pseuds/alchemystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He asks her out on a whim, because he’s bored, because he’s annoyed with her, because he thinks it will fluster her. They’ve been dancing around something like flirting for months, now, and even though most of the time he’s pretty sure he can’t stand her (and the feeling is probably mutual), sometimes she looks at him and it’s the same look Blue used to give him before she got past his hips and he couldn’t be in the paddock with the girls anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ethology

**Author's Note:**

> ethology: the scientific study of animal behavior

He asks her out on a whim, because he’s bored, because he’s annoyed with her, because he thinks it will fluster her. They’ve been dancing around something like flirting for months, now, and even though most of the time he’s pretty sure he can’t stand her (and the feeling is probably mutual), sometimes she looks at him and it’s the same look Blue used to give him before she got past his hips and he couldn’t be in the paddock with the girls anymore.

It’s dangerous, predatory, and god damn, he is such a sucker for that bullshit. Livin’ life on the edge. 

“Pick me up at seven,” she says, and turns away, one quick spin on those fucking heels he hates (loves), her hair bobbing enticingly as she walks away from him, and he’s so flustered he doesn’t even have time to stare at her ass before she’s turned a corner and disappeared.

Well.

Fuck.

——

It’s the worst date he’s ever had. And he is positive this feeling is mutual. She opens the door with an itinerary in hand, already rambling off something about what types of alcohol the hamburger joint on Main Street serves when she stutters to a stop at the sight of him.

“Are those… were you surfing before you got here?”

Things get progressively worse from there.  
——

It’s only later, as he’s watching Barry muzzle the girls and bitching about how uptight Claire is that he realizes what an utter fuck up he actually is. She’s a strange woman, Claire Dearing, always has been, but he liked that about her. No nonsense, woman with a plan, she ran the place with an iron back and a stern gaze and technically she wasn’t really his boss, but when he told his Navy buddies about her (Not that he did. Not that often anyway.) even he knew there were stars in his eyes. She was impressive, was the thing, even if she didn’t look like a million bucks all the time she’d have been impressive. 

She’d planned an entire evening from start to finish. There’d been at least ten items on there. 

She’d wanted to spend time with him. She’d been excited about it. In her way. 

He finds the paper balled up next to his bike the next morning, takes the time to unfurl it and stare at the list of things she’d had planned. 

He pauses for a long time on number seven, where she’d set aside half an hour for the raptors usual feeding time. 

He’s a fuck up. 

——

“Mr. Grady,” she says, eyes sliding right past him as she walks past, her voice neutral. 

“Hey, Claire I wanted to -.”

“Mr. Grady, I’m late for a meeting with investors, so unless you have something urgent…?” She lets the question hang but doesn’t meet his gaze, and he shrugs. This seems to irritate her - she lets out a puff of breath through her nose and continues walking, and it’s not until he loses track of her in the crowd that he remembers what impeccable timing the woman usually has. No way she was late for a meeting. 

Well. Fine then. If they’re playing that game, he can give just as good as he gets.

——

He’s pressed against the door of the bungalow, saying one last goodbye to the woman who’d caught his eye while he was spending the night at the bar - a guest of the resort who’ll be hopping back on a boat home tomorrow - when a loud cough startles him from the lazy kiss, and the girl - Maria? - jumps back from him. 

“Am I interrupting?”

Claire, again. He shoots her a guilty look and then bites his lip - she’s not his boss, and she’s not his girl, and there is literally zero reason to feel guilty. The look she shoots him is quietly reproachful, but he assumes that’s mostly because he’s outside her jurisdiction and she’s annoyed that her no fraternization policy doesn’t extend to him.

“Anyway. Bye,” Maria says, and flounces off, heading back up the pathway to the resort. 

“What can I do you for?” he says, smirking a bit just to watch her eyes flash at the innuendo. 

“There’s a situation with one of the Triceratops, and Mr. Masrani -”

“You know, you could just admit I’m good enough at my job for you to think of me first.”

“You’re adequate at best, Mr. Grady, but despite your utter lack of professionalism you are the most adequate we’ve got.”

He rolls his tongue against his teeth. “I’ll be out in five.”

“Perhaps that would be wise. You seem to be missing your pants.”

——

She’s been running around the jungle in heels and a skirt, keeping her composure and following his lead and yeah, okay, he was pretty sure his little crush on her was over by now, but seeing her like this, kicking ass and taking names without her professional walls to hide behind - he’s not an idiot. He knows what he likes.

His closest companions for the past few years have been man-eating beasts, and he likes it that way.

She tases a Pterodon and drags him back to his feet and he stops thinking for a second and just does.

She kisses back. 

And then hell breaks loose even more, and he shoves it to the back of his mind because they’ve got shit to do. Dinosaurs to defeat.

This is his life.

——

“Probably stick together. For survival.”

She asks him out a week later, while he’s crashing on the couch in her hotel room, a bag of Funyuns on his stomach and a telenovella on the television. It’s spur of the moment - she’s been reading over a file for the last hour, still wrapped in the bathrobe she’d been wearing when she got out of the shower, her hair curling naturally and her face free of makeup and this is such a 180 from everything he used to know about her.

But he likes it.

“…drinks before they fly back home and I thought - are you even listening to me?”

“Huh?”

“Wonderful.”

“Drinks. With your sister. Before she leaves. I was listening.”

“Listen, if you’re not interested, just tell me. I’m meeting them in an hour. They boys would like to see you, I’m sure.”

“I never said I wasn’t interested.” It’s loaded with a lot of double meaning and it’s more than a little sullen, but he’s spent the last four nights listening to her have nightmares and letting her curl up next to him on the couch when she finally admits defeat with sleep, and they haven’t actually talked about anything at all. Definitely haven’t had any repeats of the adrenaline fueled kiss.

“Neither did I. So. You’ll come?” She tilts her head as she shoots him an earnestly questioning look, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and he’s heard plenty before about how horribly relationships built on traumatic experiences tend to go, so he can only imagine how much research she’s done on the subject. 

“Am I allowed to wear shorts this time, or is that like, a thing with you?”

She rolls her eyes, but there is laughter sparkling in her gaze. “You can wear whatever you want, as long as you wear pants.”

——

They get dinner once they’ve said goodbye to her family. She smiles, she laughs, and when he trails off halfway through a story about Delta and Charlie’s sad attempts to learn fetch, the memory of watching them die getting a little hazy as he thinks of smoke and flame and teeth, she reaches across the table to curl her fingers into his. 

——

He stumbles against the door to her hotel room, tongue tracing the shell of her ear as she fumbles with the buttons of his shirt, and she curses as she swipes her key for the third time. 

When the door finally opens they tumble in together, hardly breaking contact long enough to kick the door closed. 

There’s a hitch in her breath when she pulls the shirt down over his arms, and they both pause as she raises a trembling hand to trace the nasty purple bruise.

Talk about a mood killer. 

“This is probably a terrible idea,” he tells her, resisting the urge to shrug the shirt back over his shoulders. 

She hums, and doesn’t agree with him. 

“I mean. We don’t even like each other.”

“I like you just fine.”

“You say that now, but you have to remember I’m wearing slacks and I had a tie on at some point tonight. Do you remember what happened to it? That’s literally the only tie I own.”

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

“I’m not a kept man, Ms. Dearing,” he tells her, fingers drifting over her elbow, and there’s a flash in her eyes, something predatory and primal as she leans into his space. 

“Shut up and kiss me already, before you’re relegated to eating Funyuns on my couch for the rest of your life.”

“Well, if you insist.”


End file.
